


Transverse Velocity

by fourfreedoms



Series: Gravitational Influence [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Riding, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 06:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15212840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: Patrick returns home after worlds. Set May of 2018.A timestamp to Orbital Resonance.





	Transverse Velocity

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, it is certainly difficult to try and get back into something four whole years after you wrote the original fic. I don't know WHAT I was thinking. Hopefully, this lives up even slightly to the original. I wrote this without the help of my beloved joyfulseeker, so in that regard, it is definitely lacking. 
> 
> Thanks to allthebros and sorrylatenew and everybody on twitter who listened to me complaining about this.

He wakes up to a comforting palm sliding over his bare back, fingertips skimming ever so gently over his skin. 

“Mm, what timez it?” he says, blinking awake into the darkened bedroom, the curtains drawn tight against the lights of skyline. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, squinting into the darkness, trying to make out the warm familiar body next to him. 

“Only 11,” Patrick replies, “sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Jonny flaps a hand at him. He’s glad that Patrick’s home, back in their bed. Between the time difference and Patrick’s schedule they hadn’t had a lot of time to talk while Patrick was in Denmark. “What time did your flight get in?” he mumbles. 

“Hour and a half ago,” he says dismissively, his hand still stroking in long soothing passes up and down Jonny’s spine. “Are you still getting headaches, you’re asleep pretty early.” 

“Hmm? Oh, Just tension headaches. My back is so fucked up,” Jonny rubs his hand over his eyes and sighs, brain slowly coming back online. He clears his throat. “I was with the MFR therapist today, and I walk out of there sometimes feeling worse than I did after we played Anaheim in 2015.” 

“Is it helping?” 

Jonny doesn’t like the concern in Patrick’s voice. He doesn’t mean to make him worry. “As well as it can? It’s not fun in the moment though,” he says with a slight chuckle. “It’s not like a relaxing massage.” 

Patrick presses a little deeper with his fingertips on his next pass up Jonny’s back. “Would you like one?” 

“Are you offering?” 

“Nah, just thought I’d throw it out there for kicks,” Patrick says, ducking down to press a kiss right behind Jonny’s ear. He gives Jonny’s ass a light swat. “Yes I’m offering.” 

Jonny drops his head back to the pillow, voice partially muffled. “You won’t mind if I fall asleep during?” 

Patrick strokes the back of his neck, voice fond. “Not at all.” 

Jonny hears Patrick get up off the bed, rummaging around in the closet, and then the bedside table, before finally returning, skinned down to pajama pants. 

“This okay?” he asks, when he straddles Jonny’s hips, holding most of his weight on his knees. 

Jonny reaches back to tug at him. Patrick’s not going to break him and he’s not going to screw up his back worse by sitting on Jonny. Patrick huffs out a chuckle, resiting a little before finally dropping his weight down. There’s a soft metal snick and Jonny smells the distinctive scent of Icy Hot as Patrick smears a liberal dollop across the back of his neck and works it down along his spine. His good hands extends to more than just sick dekes and beauty passes, he’s good at this too, partially because he used to give his mom neck massages growing up when she got stressed. Something Jonny has definitely reaped the benefits of in the last five years of their relationship. Patrick knows how to seek out the knots, how to work at them until it feels like he might actually melt under his touch, and he’s tireless, seemingly content to rub Jonny’s back for as long as Jonny will let him. He concedes that part of it might also be that it’s Patrick. No massage therapist has ever suffused his gut with warmth and security. 

Jonny groans and hitches his hips involuntarily when Patrick finds a problem area down along his lats and spinous process. 

“Hmm, what happened here?” Patrick hums, rich with amusement. 

“J.T. Compher fuckin’ happened,” Jonny says blearily. 

Patrick digs in his with his thumbs pushing at it. “Getting old, Toews.” 

Jonny snorts but doesn’t rise to the bait. 

Patrick continues to work at him until Jonny does start to feel genuinely better, some of his tension and stiffness leaving him and his breaths deepening. 

Patrick slowly drifts to a halt, bending down over Jonny’s back, and he must assume Jonny’s asleep, because he says in a voice thick with emotion, “Be careful, my love, I need you with me a long time.” 

Warm and relaxed, Jonny turns within the cage of Patrick’s body, pulling Patrick down into a kiss, his fingers tangled in the curls at his nape to keep him right where he wants him. Patrick kisses him back fiercely, nipping at his lower lip, tongue sliding into his mouth. He’d ignored the semi he got from Patrick’s hands on him, but now he grinds it against Patrick’s belly. He expects Patrick to chuckle and crack a joke, but instead he breathes out like he’s been punched, hands catching at Jonny’s and pressing them back into the bed. 

“Please don’t worry about me,” he says softly in the face of that uncharacteristic desperation. 

It only seems to rile Patrick further. When he dips down to kiss Jonny’s again, his fingers are too tight either in warning or punishment. Just as the bite of pain against his knuckles and the pressure in his cock is starting to reach unbearable levels, Patrick finally presses himself up and relaxes his grip, blue eyes shadowed in the darkness as he blinks down at him. Jonny’s chest doesn’t seem to have enough air in it. Patrick finally looks away and Jonny sucks in a breath, everything inside him vibrating with something unknown, all the fears and insecurities and horrors of this last season. He lets it out slow, flexing his fingers, feeling the blood rush into them. Patricks leans over to rummage around in the bedside table, still half-sprawled across him, unconsciously rolling his hips on Jonny’s cock as he moves. Jonny drops a hand to his waist, keeping him still. 

When Patrick comes up with the lube he prefers, a little stickier than Jonny’s own favorite, Jonny can’t help a smile—all those years spent in pursuit of the perfect handy. He starts to sit up, and is surprised when Patrick puts a hand on his chest, holding him to the mattress, looking strangely unsure. 

“I prepped earlier,” he says thumbing across Jonny’s lower lip and then trails his fingers down Jonny’s chest, like all he wants is to be gentle. Ah. Now he sees. “Could you let me?” 

Jonny nods up at him, catching at his hand, the heat in his belly building. They’ve been together for five years—just celebrated their anniversary not even a month ago, because Patrick cares about things like that—but they don’t do this all that often, not with Patrick in his lap, looking down at him. He would turn over and let Patrick drill him into the mattress right now if that’s what he wanted. It’s not like they haven’t had sex since the hit, he knows he’s not gonna fuck his back up worse unless they start trying to do industrial strength pilates at the same time. But if this is what Patrick wants, he’ll be the last person to say no. 

Patrick doesn’t even let him take his own underwear off, and Jonny has to throw an arm across his face to keep from laughing. 

“I know it embarrasses you to be taken care of,” Patrick tells him as he’s skimming them down Jonny’s thighs. When he’s got them all the way off he gives one of Jonny’s thighs a heavy smack and Jonny doesn’t even bother to choke back his snort. 

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” he says, peeking over his forearm at the picture Patrick makes, naked and strong, the low-light bringing out the gold in his lashes and eyebrows. 

Patrick shakes his head, and then with a somewhat evil glint in his eye, slicks up his hand, and fists Jonny’s cock. Once, twice, a smooth stroke from base to tip that at this point is better than what he could for himself. Really Jonny is tired enough and Patrick knows him so well he could easily be content with just this, but Patrick slings a knee over his hips, fitting Jonny’s cock to his hole. 

“Fuck I always forget that’s a lot,” Patrick breathes as he starts to bear down, eyelids fluttering closed. 

Jonny chuckles, dropping his hands to Patrick’s thighs and giving them a slight squeeze. “Flattering my ego there.” 

Patrick peeks back at him between slitted lids, wordless, tongue swiping out over his lower lip as his stomach muscles band tight, his own cock jutting up between his thighs. God he’s beautiful. Slowly, slowly, Patrick works his way down until his ass is flush with the cradle of Jonny’s hips, each bare moment a sweet form of torture for Jonny as he fights to remain still and let Patrick adjust. He can tell the exact moment his cock knocks across Patrick’s prostate because his head drops back on his neck and he lets out a deep breath, a deep flush blooming over his chest. 

“You feel good,” Patrick mutters as he drops his palms to Jonny’s chest and starts to roll his hips. Jonny’s lips part involuntarily on a moan, digging his head back into the pillow as Patrick takes him in deep, moving sinuous and fluid. It’s been building so long now through the massage that it’s a struggle not to nut right then. 

“You look good,” Jonny replies. 

Patrick huffs out a laugh, thighs flexing, grinding down a little harder. Sweat is starting to sheen up his collarbones and pectorals and down into the taut divots of his abdomen and if they both weren’t totally paranoid, he’d get his reach for his phone and record this to watch the next time Patrick had to head off without him. 

“Felt like you were gone too long,” he says, seemingly apropos of nothing, but Patrick has always been good at catching the thread of his thoughts. 

Patrick bends his spine to kiss him, nearly biting at his mouth in that earlier desperation, even as the rocking of his hips stays smooth and slow. 

“I missed you too,” he says, forehead pressed to Jonny’s. 

“Is this getting you there?” Jonny asks, clutching at Patrick’s thigh. 

Patrick tongues over his lower lip, pausing just a second too long. “I mean—I’ll take care of it after.” 

Jonny buries his face into Patrick’s neck, laughing. “You martyr.” There are guys who could let their partner ride them to orgasm while they lay back and did nothing. Jonny just isn’t that guy. He belts an arm around Patrick’s lower back, dragging him in tighter and then gets his feet flat on the bed, fucking up. 

“I had a plan, Toews,” Patrick gasps, face screwing up as a shiver goes through him. 

“Good players fuckin’ adjust,” Jonny replies, fingers digging into the solid flesh alongside Patrick’s spine as he pushes back into each stroke, their breaths heavy. 

“You’re supposed to be careful,” Patrick bites out, even as he raises himself back up again so he has more leverage to thrust down against Jonny. The slap slap of their bodies meeting is obscene in their quiet bedroom. Holding Jonny’s gaze, he wraps his hand around his cock and begins to tug, knowing what that does to him just to watch. 

Jonny sucks a breath in, thrusts going erratic, orgasm speeding down upon him, but he doesn’t let go until Patrick makes those perfect giveaway moans that have become so familiar over the last ten years. Patrick’s close, he’s so close. Jonny lifts his hips, slamming inside him one more time, aiming right for that tender spot inside, and Patrick erupts over his fist with a cry, spine arching. Tremors go through his clenched thighs, and he squeezes Jonny’s cock reflexively in long pulses, making Jonny’s eyes roll back in his head. 

The entire world seems to white out for a moment, but when he finally manages to pry his eyes open again, it’s to Patrick’s chest heaving, the flush on his cheeks receding. He stretches languidly like he’s not still impaled on Jonny’s cock, cheeky as he is, and then lower lip caught between his teeth slowly lifts himself off. 

“You just had to make sure I came first,” he bitches, rolling his eyes. 

“Gee, I’m a monster,” Jonny replies, tugging him down next to him on the bed to give him a kiss. 

Patrick snickers, leaning in for one peck and then two before extracting himself. “Stop, stop, I’m a mess. Fuck, lemme clean up.” 

Jonny laughs. He’s not sure it really matters at this point. The sheets are already smeared with Icy Hot, they’re lucky it didn’t get on any important bits, but he waves Patrick off to the bathroom before reaching for the box of tissues off of Patrick’s nightstand to clean up his junk. That seems to be all he’s capable of, his body suddenly reminding him he was in the middle of sleeping, before Patrick very pleasantly decided to wake him. He rolls back over to his half of the bed, fluffs his pillows with a yawn and settles down, listening to the sound of running water in the bathroom. He’s nearly asleep when Patrick pads back to bed, flicking the lights out as he goes. 

Jonny smiles into his pillow when Patrick settles in behind him, forehead against his shoulder and hand on his hip. As Patrick’s breaths even out, Jonny threads their fingers together, thumb skimming over Patrick’s knuckles and remembers a time years ago, promising Patrick he’d live to be 500.


End file.
